Nynaeve's Blush
by Sailor Silver Ladybug
Summary: A simple one-shot, in the voice of al'Lan Mandragoran, who is looking across the fire one morning at Nynaeve al'Meara.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Wheel of Time series, or the characters (though I do have all the books and will never let them go).

**Author's Note:** I've been re-reading the series and this short scene came to me last night as I was laying down. It's from book one, the Eye of the World, shortly before Perrin and Egwene are rescued. Just a simple moment as Lan catches sight of Nynaeve across the remnants of the campfire.  
Sailor Silver Ladybug  
Tori  
1/28/20

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**Nynaeve's Blush**  
**A Wheel of Time One Shot**

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al'Lan Mandragoran, last Lord of the Seven Towers, Lord of the Lakes, True Blade of Malkier, Defender of the Wall of First Fires, Bearer of the Sword of the Thousand Lakes, Dai Shan (a diademed battle lord), and the uncrowned king had found, well into his middle years, the greatest curiosity of his life. Not discounting that he had fought the Aiel War, that his homeland had been swallowed by the blight, that he was a Warder bonded to Moraine Damodred, Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah. In spite of all he had seen and done in his long life, nothing had fascinated him more than a simple blush.

He wasn't a young man, prone to wild flights of fancy, and he wasn't inexperienced. Lan knew what he wanted, though he had long denied himself in the war against the Shadow. He was bound by the one power to protect Moraine Sedai, and to obey her commands. He was bound by oaths spoken for him, over his cradle to _stand against the Shadow so long as iron is hard and stone abides. To defend the Malkieri while one drop of blood remains. To avenge what cannot be defended._

Never before had a woman so turned his head. And she was young. He could count forty-six years, she perhaps twenty-five. And yet... the fascinating pinkening of her cheeks when he had paid her a simple compliment could not be ignored. The look in her dark eyes as she stared at him across the fire, thinking him unaware, stirred something within Lan he'd long thought dead. He'd seen it's like before. The first blush of blossoming love.

How could he stop her from falling?

Lan knew, though Nynaeve did not, that his only bridal gift to her would be a widow's veil. If he did not have the endless war to fight, an oath to bind him, and a duty heavier than a mountain; if he was perhaps younger and more eloquent, and if by some miracle his land and people had not perished or been swallowed up by other nations, then he might have considered taking her as his bride.

Pulling on Mandarb's reigns lightly, he fed the animal an apple. A rare treat for a fully trained war horse, but he had found moving far from Nynaeve's presence was better for the heart. He could not keep his eyes from the girl, though he knew she could never be aware how closely he watched. In the long weeks they had traveled in search of the boys Moraine said were important, Lan had become increasingly aware that Nynaeve al'Meara was much more than a simple village Wisdom. He had heard Moraine's words to her. Heard that she had it within her to become Aes Sedai.

Even that would not be nearly enough to protect her out in the world. He wished, for the first time since taking the bond to Moraine, that he could change it. Become Warder to the younger woman who needed so much protection and guidance. He could not, would not, ask to be released. Moraine's fight was his own, and Lan's sword had protected her for many years. Her healing had kept him alive, his arms had carried her across the miles. They were a team, though to this day he wasn't sure if they were even friends.

Perhaps if he had not noticed Nynaeve's blush. Perhaps if he had not seen her tug on that long silken braid of dark hair that was often pulled over her shoulder and clenched tightly in her fist. If she had not tracked his movements, or chased down the young ones from her village she cared so much about. If she had not stared him defiantly in the eyes when men with swords had run from his gaze. He shook his head in frustration. How had a simple girl, a Wisdom from a tiny village in the back edge of beyond, caught his heart in such a snare?

But he would not pull her into his battle. If he could have managed it, he would have found a river ship and pushed her onto it, bound hand and foot, to send her back to Emond's Field and the safety it provided. He could not. Moraine said she was part of the Pattern. He had never before questioned her judgement, and yet, staring across the fire to where Nynaeve had her script open searching through the contents for the right ingredients for a poultice to treat her horse's eye, he could wish that she was safe from the nightmare he had been born to fight.

Turning away, he clenched his fists tightly, vowing he would not doom her to the life he faced. It was the only gift he could give to the woman he was coming to realize he loved.


End file.
